Tea Party sounds so much nicer than "mob of racists and homophobes."
~ bumpersticker on Park Avenue
Looking great! Flowers look pretty good, too!
~ guy calling out from car with out-of-state plates after driving the wrong way on a one-way street and spotting me watching his idiocy as I water my garden
Hey! Got any time left you could share?
~ stranger asking for my parking receipt as I get back in my car (I gave him my leftover hour)
My cross-country adventuring friend is back, so we decamped to the North to mingle, watch potters at the wheel and listen to men in pink shirts play music in the garden before servicing my hired mouth.
Gleaned from her trip to the Left Coast and back: never visit Oklahoma City on prom night, casinos on reservations are depressing but watching talented bowlers is stellar entertainment and having a cold when you're in a car for four weeks is taxing on both parties.
Oh, yes, and a bracelet suggesting the rhythms of life is worth the price.
As we're leaving the restaurant, we spot a family table with all four children under 10, heads bowed and engrossed in the blue lights of screens.
Tragic, we agree.
"They've been like that since they sat down," the impossibly young-looking hostess pipes up, her blond ponytail swinging as she shakes her pretty little head. "Headphones, too. We weren't like that when we were little."
And by we, I have to assume she means her fellow young millennials (as opposed to older millennials or Generation Z, the latest demographic target of fact-finding marketers) who had to wait until middle school to be granted device privileges.
Cry me a river.
Even the drive back from the hinterlands passes quickly with talk of Republican-baiters, wedding officiating and eleventh hour house tours. Fireworks are exploding over the Diamond as we drive by and she reminisces about a drive to the North Carolina beach on a long-ago July fourth, passing fireworks for miles along I-95, a sight you never forget.
Four weeks is really too long for friends to try to recap in a matter of hours. Hence, impending lunch plans were made to further the insider tip sharing of a two-time Paris pro.
She waved me goodbye with an armful of books - Egan's Pulitzer Prize-winning "A Visit from the Goon Squad" and Moore's "Sacre Bleu, a Comedy D'Art," among others - while at the same time clarifying that they were not birthday presents, merely fodder for discussion.
Be still my conversation heart, let's do read and dissect together.
But for tonight, let's instead invite a fellow music-lover (coincidentally a fellow) to take a somewhat steamy stroll over to Strange Matter for a show, arriving well enough in advance (okay, 20 minutes) to slide over to Ipanema and have a glass of wine and share some social intercourse in the uncrowded restaurant.
The music isn't loud enough, but the vibe is comfortable and music awaits us a few doors down.
Loop master Dave Watkins has gone and built himself another instrument, this time with a $99 Telecaster kit and the usual obscene amount of elbow grease, and proceeds to make music on it, magnificently layering sounds made by playing the guitar, tapping on it and singing into it to create dense soundscapes that entrance the room.
And by room, I mean a semi-circle of young men standing around Dave, worshiping at his altar and trying to absorb his genius.
Between songs a friend says hello and shares that just a few minutes earlier, he'd noticed that everyone in the audience was male until I walked in. "Women don't like this kind of music, I guess," he says. "Too technical?"
But I like it a lot, I remind him. "Women don't like power pop, either," he insists. Well, I love that, too. "Well, you're not a typical woman."
Thank you, I'll take that as a the compliment.
Philly's Laser Background took the stage and played their new album "Correct" from start to finish, effectively taking the crowd on a mildly psychedelic electronic journey complete with synthesizers and, as my date so perfectly put it, cosmetically-enhanced voice work (loads of effects).
Naturally the requisite non-stop dance guy threw his waist-length hair around as he stepped erratically and shook his body directly in front of the stage to the trippy sounds that deserved visual effects.
Born too late, he'd have made a terrific Dead follower, forever searching for a beat.
I'd shared with a friend that I'd seen Laser Background referred to as "paisley pop" and it took only one song for him to turn and deadpan, "I hear no paisley." Turns out he spoke too soon because a few songs later, a decidedly whimsical paisley pop feel emerged and I savored the moment almost as much as the music.
This, kids, is why we come out for live music on a Thursday night.
Recluse Raccoon closed out the show, trucker hats on heads and rhythm section keeping things lively as guitarist Timothy sang his succinct and slightly mournful songs to close out the evening and send the two of us walking home along a mostly deserted Broad Street, a far cry from the suburban landscapes of Henrico County and any clandestine Tea Party activity.
A women doesn't have to be typical to appreciate a late night post-paisley walk when the company's right and there's time left to share.
Things move really fast now. How did that happen?
Showing posts with label recluse raccoon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recluse raccoon. Show all posts
Friday, June 3, 2016
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Understanding the Melody
Today's weather was the evil twin of yesterday.
I wish I'd written that, but I didn't, I just read it and thought it was brilliant. Despite the cold, the rain and the persistent gray, I walked to Church Hill and back. And then promptly called a Church Hill friend to suggest we do dinner.
After getting so much done this afternoon that I was drunk on my productivity, I was ready for a good night. Friend picked me up in the fog and we spent several pleasurable hours catching up and chowing down.
Since I'd last seen him, he'd become an official old man - advised by his doc to take meds for high blood pressure and cholesterol and to get more exercise. Although he'd picked up the prescriptions, his plan was to hang on for a few years and then ignore the doctor's advice like his 80-year old mother does about her health.
This seems to be a trait that runs in middle-aged men. Tragic, really.
We compared notes on the InLight installations we'd seen in Monroe Park a few weeks ago, although he'd missed my favorite, the candlelit interior of the cathedral, a breathtaking sight I will never forget. But he had pictures of himself with various light pieces and I didn't, so he had better show and tell.
I tried to convince him to join me for a show afterwards, but he pulled another old man move, citing an early morning and dropping me off at Gallery 5 so he could go home and to bed. It was 8:00.
We all do what wehave want to do.
Technically, the show was free, but I made a donation at the door because - I'm getting on my soapbox here - people deserve to be paid for sharing their talent and went inside.
There, I was unexpectedly greeted by Richmond Graphics' vintage poster show from the '70s and '80s. Besides the quality of the posters graphically (nothing computer generated here), it was amazing to see the shows that passed through VCU before I got here.
Like Nils Lofgren at the Empire Theater April 30, 1977 - tickets were $2 for VCU students and $4 for the public. While this poster probably only resonates with Springsteen fans these days, I was that girl who had Nils' first album and played it to death. Even bought a replacement copy of it two years ago.
Apparently VCU's Halloween Dance was a big deal back in the day. One year the Talking Heads played the new gym and another the Ramones played the old gym. Those must have been some dances.
Since I hadn't been expecting art tonight, I was pretty thrilled with such a stellar start to my evening.
Inside, I found a place to stand next to the radiator (merely warm, not hot, as I would have wished) and scanned the room for familiar faces. Slim pickins for friends tonight.
Manatree started playing minutes after 8, a fact I appreciated since so many shows punish the punctual and reward the tardy. I was amused to see that the bass player had draped his "Bieber" jacket across his amp.
Looking at these impossibly young musicians, I found something awfully familiar about them despite being quite sure that I'd never seen Manatree before.
Then it hit me. These guys used to call themselves Herro Sugar and I'd seen them many times, always impressed with their musicianship, energy and short, fast songs. A rose by any other name and all that.
At one point, singer Jack said, "Tristan, to my right over here, is going to sing the next one and do a fine job, too." The bass players crossed his fingers at this. For the record, Tristan did an outstanding job with his song.
During the slower song "Children," the bass player and drummer began fighting with plastic swords behind Jack as he sung, eventually laying down their arms and playing music again. It looked like everyone was having a great time.
Who knows why they changed their name (there couldn't have been multiple Herro Sugars, I wouldn't think)? All that matters is that they continue to develop into a band worth seeing.
During the break, I walked back over to look at the posters, overhearing an intense conversation. "You understand the melody in a more sophisticated manner," one intense bearded guy said to another. If you say so.
Back at my radiator, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find my favorite dulcitar player at my side. He'd played Gallery 5 just last night but I'd missed the show so it was a treat to see him tonight. Actually, it's a treat to see him any time.
The next band was Recluse Raccoon and consisted of simply a singer/guitarist and drummer. Clearly we were in for something completely different.
He had a fine voice and well-written sings but I couldn't put my finger on what the sound reminded me of. About the closest I could come was a stripped down Band of Horses or Fleet Foxes, no doubt because of that voice and dense guitar sound.
When they finished, we were joined by a bass player I've seen many times but never met. I told her how much I'd enjoyed her new project at the Sound of Music show last week and she looked pleased. Before that, I'd only seen her playing in Fear of Music, a cover band.
Like us, she'd come out for a good show on a Tuesday night. No more of a reason than that was required. The three of us talked about what a great scene Richmond has and why it's completely unnecessary to move to a bigger city to make it. Witness all the people who do and end up moving back. We're just saving ourselves the trip.
The main event was NYC's Friend Roulette, a collective of guitarist, bassist, drummer, singer/violinist and (as I learned tonight from my musician friend) an EWI player. It looked like an electronic clarinet to me but was explained as a breath controller, essentially an electronic wind machine with a synthesizer inside.
The result was almost chamber pop, with a dreamgaze element. I'm a sucker for a female-fronted band especially when you throw in lush, dense music too. Songs tended to be soundscapes, long and meandering journeys for singer Julia to work her vocal wiles on the crowd. I succumbed immediately. "Stoned Alone" was particularly appealing.
Taken from life experience? I guess I'll never know.
But I could have killed the cutesy couple who planted themselves directly in my sight line just as their set began because they were either talking or sucking face while I tried to see around them.
Matt, who played the EWI and came across as the bandleader, thanked us for coming. "This is the start of a two week vacation for us playing music every night," he said excitedly. That's about the best way to look at a tour I've heard.
Standing there against the radiator listening to this eclectic and dreamy-sounding band seemed like proof positive of what a great place Richmond is.
Oh, excuse me, does your city have free concerts with three excellent bands on a Tuesday night? In a city where you don't have to work two jobs to support yourself? Where you can actually make a difference in what happens?
Too bad. It must be the evil twin of Richmond.
I wish I'd written that, but I didn't, I just read it and thought it was brilliant. Despite the cold, the rain and the persistent gray, I walked to Church Hill and back. And then promptly called a Church Hill friend to suggest we do dinner.
After getting so much done this afternoon that I was drunk on my productivity, I was ready for a good night. Friend picked me up in the fog and we spent several pleasurable hours catching up and chowing down.
Since I'd last seen him, he'd become an official old man - advised by his doc to take meds for high blood pressure and cholesterol and to get more exercise. Although he'd picked up the prescriptions, his plan was to hang on for a few years and then ignore the doctor's advice like his 80-year old mother does about her health.
This seems to be a trait that runs in middle-aged men. Tragic, really.
We compared notes on the InLight installations we'd seen in Monroe Park a few weeks ago, although he'd missed my favorite, the candlelit interior of the cathedral, a breathtaking sight I will never forget. But he had pictures of himself with various light pieces and I didn't, so he had better show and tell.
I tried to convince him to join me for a show afterwards, but he pulled another old man move, citing an early morning and dropping me off at Gallery 5 so he could go home and to bed. It was 8:00.
We all do what we
Technically, the show was free, but I made a donation at the door because - I'm getting on my soapbox here - people deserve to be paid for sharing their talent and went inside.
There, I was unexpectedly greeted by Richmond Graphics' vintage poster show from the '70s and '80s. Besides the quality of the posters graphically (nothing computer generated here), it was amazing to see the shows that passed through VCU before I got here.
Like Nils Lofgren at the Empire Theater April 30, 1977 - tickets were $2 for VCU students and $4 for the public. While this poster probably only resonates with Springsteen fans these days, I was that girl who had Nils' first album and played it to death. Even bought a replacement copy of it two years ago.
Apparently VCU's Halloween Dance was a big deal back in the day. One year the Talking Heads played the new gym and another the Ramones played the old gym. Those must have been some dances.
Since I hadn't been expecting art tonight, I was pretty thrilled with such a stellar start to my evening.
Inside, I found a place to stand next to the radiator (merely warm, not hot, as I would have wished) and scanned the room for familiar faces. Slim pickins for friends tonight.
Manatree started playing minutes after 8, a fact I appreciated since so many shows punish the punctual and reward the tardy. I was amused to see that the bass player had draped his "Bieber" jacket across his amp.
Looking at these impossibly young musicians, I found something awfully familiar about them despite being quite sure that I'd never seen Manatree before.
Then it hit me. These guys used to call themselves Herro Sugar and I'd seen them many times, always impressed with their musicianship, energy and short, fast songs. A rose by any other name and all that.
At one point, singer Jack said, "Tristan, to my right over here, is going to sing the next one and do a fine job, too." The bass players crossed his fingers at this. For the record, Tristan did an outstanding job with his song.
During the slower song "Children," the bass player and drummer began fighting with plastic swords behind Jack as he sung, eventually laying down their arms and playing music again. It looked like everyone was having a great time.
Who knows why they changed their name (there couldn't have been multiple Herro Sugars, I wouldn't think)? All that matters is that they continue to develop into a band worth seeing.
During the break, I walked back over to look at the posters, overhearing an intense conversation. "You understand the melody in a more sophisticated manner," one intense bearded guy said to another. If you say so.
Back at my radiator, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find my favorite dulcitar player at my side. He'd played Gallery 5 just last night but I'd missed the show so it was a treat to see him tonight. Actually, it's a treat to see him any time.
The next band was Recluse Raccoon and consisted of simply a singer/guitarist and drummer. Clearly we were in for something completely different.
He had a fine voice and well-written sings but I couldn't put my finger on what the sound reminded me of. About the closest I could come was a stripped down Band of Horses or Fleet Foxes, no doubt because of that voice and dense guitar sound.
When they finished, we were joined by a bass player I've seen many times but never met. I told her how much I'd enjoyed her new project at the Sound of Music show last week and she looked pleased. Before that, I'd only seen her playing in Fear of Music, a cover band.
Like us, she'd come out for a good show on a Tuesday night. No more of a reason than that was required. The three of us talked about what a great scene Richmond has and why it's completely unnecessary to move to a bigger city to make it. Witness all the people who do and end up moving back. We're just saving ourselves the trip.
The main event was NYC's Friend Roulette, a collective of guitarist, bassist, drummer, singer/violinist and (as I learned tonight from my musician friend) an EWI player. It looked like an electronic clarinet to me but was explained as a breath controller, essentially an electronic wind machine with a synthesizer inside.
The result was almost chamber pop, with a dreamgaze element. I'm a sucker for a female-fronted band especially when you throw in lush, dense music too. Songs tended to be soundscapes, long and meandering journeys for singer Julia to work her vocal wiles on the crowd. I succumbed immediately. "Stoned Alone" was particularly appealing.
Taken from life experience? I guess I'll never know.
But I could have killed the cutesy couple who planted themselves directly in my sight line just as their set began because they were either talking or sucking face while I tried to see around them.
Matt, who played the EWI and came across as the bandleader, thanked us for coming. "This is the start of a two week vacation for us playing music every night," he said excitedly. That's about the best way to look at a tour I've heard.
Standing there against the radiator listening to this eclectic and dreamy-sounding band seemed like proof positive of what a great place Richmond is.
Oh, excuse me, does your city have free concerts with three excellent bands on a Tuesday night? In a city where you don't have to work two jobs to support yourself? Where you can actually make a difference in what happens?
Too bad. It must be the evil twin of Richmond.
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